


Filthy Impetuous Soul (Day One-First Kiss)

by providentialeyes



Series: Morston Week 2020 [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: First Kiss, Forced Drinking, Innuendo, M/M, Mild Breathplay, Morston Week 2020, Pre-Canon, Sharing a Bed, Trust Kink, Wet & Messy, it's not really forced but idk bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:54:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25809184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/providentialeyes/pseuds/providentialeyes
Summary: Arthur presses the glass lip to John’s mouth, taking another step closer, standing between John’s splayed legs.John blinks at him in confusion, tries to take control of the bottle but Arthur holds on.“Don’t,” Arthur says hoarsely, “Just…Let me.”
Relationships: John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Series: Morston Week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1874179
Comments: 12
Kudos: 85
Collections: Morston Week 2020





	Filthy Impetuous Soul (Day One-First Kiss)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [You Know Me Too Well by Nothing But Thieves](https://open.spotify.com/track/1BpmL4NBhX2P7GxuoVtojI?si=C7XHcDkYTOaE7RXZ-d39DA)

Arthur sticks the bottle of shine in the river, wrapping the jug in rope and anchoring the line under a boulder. 

It’s sticky-hot, midsummer rains keeping everything damp enough to be uncomfortable but not wet enough to cool down. 

John disappeared into the forest as soon as their horses were hitched and Arthur was too hot to question it. 

The younger man comes back dragging two logs, a bundle of sticks, and a couple handfuls worth of moss. 

“What the hell’s all that for?”

“You wanna sleep in this muck?” John grumbles and tosses everything down. 

“You gon’ build us a lil’ house outta that?”

John levels him with a glare vicious enough Arthur raises his hands in submission, cringing away slightly, not entirely sure John won’t toss something at him in irritation. 

The younger man positions the logs about his height apart and starts laying the longer sticks down, bridging between the logs. 

Arthur stands up to come closer and peer curiously down at him as John wraps the moss around the sticks at one end before stepping back, looking up sharply, sweat dampening the front of his shirt, his hair clinging to his face. 

“Sit,” John says roughly, pointing at the bound ends. 

Arthur quirks a brow at him but goes with it. 

“Just… Lay back on ‘em, so they don’t move.”

\--

“Mighty uncomfortable, John.”

“Shut up.”

Arthur huffs and keeps his arm slung over his eyes as the sticks flex and shift under him, making it impossible for him to rest. 

“I’m almost done,” John mutters, somewhat apologetically and it’s shocking enough that Arthur doesn’t protest again. 

A few minutes more pass of shifting, and John’s quiet cursing, before it goes quiet and still. 

Arthur lifts his arm and sees the younger man frowning down at the makeshift platform, shorter sticks woven into the longer ones, with bits of moss and reeds keeping things from busting apart. 

“Huh,” Arthur blinks and slowly starts to sit up, “That’s… Pretty smart.”

John reels back slightly in surprise then meets Arthur’s eyes. 

“For _you_ ,” Arthur says quickly, then grins and shifts to the middle, carefully laying back along the platform, “You gon’ make one for yourself?”

John just huffs, shooting him an unamused look and dragging over another chunk of felled pine to stick under the middle where the weave is bowing under Arthur’s weight. 

“… I can make another one,” John mumbles and Arthur can hear the reluctance clear as the water in the river not ten yards away. 

“I was kiddin’.”

Arthur hears John’s throat click when the younger man swallows hard, as John’s shoulder is pressed against his hip, adjusting the logs to distribute the weight better. 

“We can share?” John asks hoarsely, somewhere between a suggestion and a request. 

“… Generous of you.”

“’Less you wanna sleep in the mud like a hog,” John says then stands up slowly, brushing his hands off on his pant legs.

“No, I’d rather sleep here, thanks.”

“Fine, get up so we can put some paddin’ on it.”

\--

“Arthur?” John whispers and Arthur lifts his head, looking over at the younger man where he’s standing on the bank.

“Hm?”

“What are those lights?”

“What?”

“On the other side,” John says quietly, nervously, “There’s lil’ lights in the air.”

Arthur frowns and stands, shuffling down the slope to the river to come stand behind John. 

Staring at the darkness until he sees it. 

“Oh, it’s just bugs.”

“What?” John turns to look up at him, “Bugs?”

“Lightning bugs, yeah, they come out this time o’ year.”

“I’ve never seen ‘em.”

“Don’t think we’ve been in the right places at the right time for ‘em.”

“They ain’t _mean_ bugs….?”

Arthur huffs softly and pokes John’s bare back, right over the younger man’s spine.

“Why don’t you go find out?”

John’s hand reaches back and clamps around Arthur's other wrist to steady himself. 

“Not funny.”

“Kinda funny.”

\--

“S’too warm,” John complains weakly as they’re laying on their lifted bedrolls, both wearing only their drawers. 

“Not sure how whinin’ ‘bout it helps.”

“Makes me feel better.”

“Uh-huh.”

Arthur turns his head to look at the river and catches a glimpse of the bottle bobbing in the cool water. 

He rolls onto his feet and carefully makes his way down the slope to grab the bottle. 

“This might help,” Arthur says with a laugh as he comes back up and presses the bottom of the cool glass to John’s bare chest. 

The younger man gasps sharply at the feeling and sits up, taking the bottle. 

“Jesus…” John huffs and wrinkles his nose before pressing the bottle to his face and giving a small groan of relief at the feeling. 

Arthur pointedly ignores the pang of want that he feels in response to that little groan. 

“S’it the sweet kind?” John murmurs, moving the bottle down to his neck and looking up at Arthur. 

“Mm.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

John keeps the bottle pressed against him for a moment longer then pops the cork and takes a testing sip. 

Brows furrowing then lifting at the taste. 

John sticks his tongue out slightly and holds the bottle up to Arthur.

“Very sweet,” John says before licking his lips. 

Arthur takes the jug and takes a deep swig, trying to ignore the different heat growing in his gut. 

They pass it back and forth for a while, quietly talking about the stars and the fireflies and the job tomorrow.

John passes up the bottle then leans back on his hands and looks up at the moonlit sky, the clusters of stars. 

Arthur makes a decision that could ruin them. 

He holds the jug down to John, steps closer. 

John lowers his chin a bit to look at the bottle, at Arthur, then reaches up to take it again. 

Arthur presses the glass lip to John’s mouth, taking another step closer, standing between John’s splayed legs. 

John blinks at him in confusion, tries to take control of the bottle but Arthur holds on. 

“Don’t,” Arthur says hoarsely, “Just… _Let me.”_

John stares up at him for a long moment, slowly lowers his hand. 

Chest rising and falling a bit faster. 

Arthur tilts the jug slowly, watches John’s face as the younger man parts his lips and stares into Arthur’s eyes. 

Dark, trusting. 

Arthur swallows roughly again and tilts it up further, watching John’s expression pinch slightly in surprise as the shine spills into his mouth. 

And spills.

And John swallows, makes a small sound of confusion, swallows even more. 

Clenches his fists in the bedroll as one eye closes, the other waters. 

Arthur pulls the jug away, watching a bead of pink, sticky shine drip down John’s chin as the younger man pants. 

“... What?” John asks shakily. 

Arthur nudges him back, sets one knee on the bedroll between John’s legs and leans in. 

Studies John’s eyes for a moment, then catches the bead of moonshine with his tongue, pauses, pulls back ever-so-slightly just to savor the taste of salt and sweet, meet John’s eyes again. 

John’s staring up at him with wide eyes, lips parted in shock, white-knuckling the bedroll. 

“Don’t waste it,” Arthur says slowly, voice low and rough, “Bought it for you, remembered you liked it.”

“… Thanks?” John whispers breathily, eyes flicking over Arthur’s face, down to the jug, “Can… Can I have more?”

“Yeah?” Arthur hums in faux-contemplation then straightens up, bringing the jug back to John’s lips. 

John’s eyes close right away this time, as Arthur tilts the bottle and lets the moonshine spill into John’s mouth. 

Watches John’s adam’s apple bob as the younger man swallows, watches John’s back arch, legs shift in the smallest, suppressed squirm. 

John makes a muffled sound, swallows, another, smaller sound, swallows, struggles against his body to open his eyes and look up at Arthur, warm, watery. 

“Too much?” Arthur asks quietly and John barely shakes his head, swallows. 

Wraps his legs around one of Arthur’s. 

Arthur keeps the steady, slow stream of liquor flowing into John’s mouth until John’s cheeks are red and the younger man’s eyes start to look glassy. 

He pulls back and John gasps roughly, coughing lightly, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth, ducking his head. 

“… Still alright?” Arthur asks tentatively. 

John nods, without hesitation. 

Lifts his head again, eyes shining, lips stained and glossy, cheeks flaring cherry red. 

“Shit,” Arthur says breathily and ducks in, dropping the jug in favor of grabbing John’s face and crashing their mouths together, too harsh, too eager. 

Too sharp and too sweet.

John whines against him, grabs at his waist, his ribs, blunt, bitten nails digging in, scratching at Arthur’s sides. 

“Please,” John whispers in the space between kisses. 

Arthur silences him with another kiss, rubs his thumb over the front of John’s throat and feels the younger man swallow. 

“Cooled down yet?” Arthur murmurs

John lets out a startled huff of a laugh, bites off a whimper when Arthur’s knee nestles against his cock through his drawers. 

“Shh,” Arthur presses his lips to John’s cheek, reaches between them, tugs at the laces of John’s drawers until they start to loosen. “Let me.”

**Author's Note:**

> [my twitter](https://www.twitter.com/gwennolmarie)  
> Munchy is hosting the Morston Week here's more info  
> [Morston Week Twitter](https://twitter.com/MorstonWeek)  
> [Morston Week Tumblr](https://morstonweek.tumblr.com/)  
> And here's [the collection!](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/MorstonWeek2020)


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